


W

by oesterheld



Category: Original Work
Genre: 14th Century, Black Plague, Fantasy, Immortality, Magic, Science Fiction, Victorian, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:34:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23417551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oesterheld/pseuds/oesterheld
Summary: a collection of tales of reckless abandon, witchcraft, and an immortal with nothing left to lose
Kudos: 1





	W

No mother was ready to watch her child be taken by this curse on man. No mother could watch as her son, not even 4 months old, decayed in her arms. She knew the risks of what she was doing, but were there really any other options? This was the end of her life, but it didn't have to be the end of her child's. Was it really sin if she was saving the life of a baby?

Of course it was. And if this did cure her son, he might be condemned to hell when he does die. Maybe this wasn't for the best.

She was unsure as she stood at the door, surrounded by the scent of death and lavender. The sky was as grey as the skin of the dead piling up in the streets. Sometimes she imagined ashes falling from it, as if God was burning the world like he burned the bush for Moses, as if maybe the death in the streets was for a better cause, a part of God's plan.

A final breath of courage lifted her hand to the wooden door in front of her. She knocked weakly, hesitantly, three times.

The embodiment of death itself creaked open the door, hair thin and long, skin dark and ashy. Black runes stained her face and her fingertips looked charred black. She breathed heavily, ragged and slightly hostile, for longer than the mother would like until she finally croaked,

"Desperate, hmm?"

The mother was caught off guard for a moment before answering. "Yes. I need-"

"I know what you need. What makes you think I can provide it?" the old haggard woman scanned the mother cautiously.

"I heard- I heard that you could do things. Things that might help my child."

"Not things, darling. Witchcraft." she corrected pointedly. The mother cringed at the word, but still held her ground.

"Yes... that. My son, he will die without help, I do not know what else I can do..." She trailed off, tears prickling her eyes. The witch looked contemplative for a minute more, then a spark lit up her face as the corners of her mouth lifted in a sort of off putting smile as she backed up and pulled the door with her.

"Come in."

The air inside was not much different than the air outside, except for the thick scent of burning lavender. It was a one room cottage that lay just outside of town, rickety and old. No one dared approach it because of the supposed resident witch. She never thought she would approach it, but life, or rather death, had other plans.

Inside, rocks and crystals littered every surface. Plants sprouted out of pots hanging from the ceiling and on the floor. there were two small windows on the north facing side of the cottage, but the day was dim and melancholy, so the corners of the room remained in shadow.

The mother carried her child in a tight grip, just now noticing his lack of crying. He was too weak, too sick. This had to be done before it was too late.

"Place the child here." the witch dragged her fingers across a small, rough wooden table.

"Do you have the plague?" She inquired as the mother obeyed her order.

"Not yet." The mother answered simply.

"Good." The witch reached over to a desk and grabbed what looked like a ritual dagger. "Are you willing to die for this child?" She gripped the knife.

The mother swallowed a surge of panic and then said resolutely, "I will do whatever it takes."

"Good." Was the last voice she heard before the knife was in her stomach. Her eyes widened as she looked down, then dragged her eyes back up to meet the witch's once more before she crumbled to the floor.

A new determination about her, the witch took her knife to the dying body, pushing her over to lie on her back and carving open her abdomen. "Thank you for your sacrifice," The witch muttered as the mother choked on blood. "This child will be a beautiful new creation, a miracle of our kind, thanks to you." The witch pealed back skin to see organs, still pumping and flowing, determined to cling to life. She then plunged her hands in carelessly and pulled them out, putting them off to the side. "I tried to make it work without a sacrifice, but, as my appearance goes to show, I just kept..." She continued to gut the woman until she was empty and dead, taking no particular care of the contents of her body, "... aging."

Looking down at her, she decided that was enough space and carefully picked up the barely conscious child, setting him down inside the hollow corpse of his mother. "Your mother loved you unconditionally and endlessly. Never forget it, little one." The witch whispered as she took the knife to the baby's hip bone, carving 4 small lines in a zigzag, the ends facing upward.

The cottage lit up in a haze of white light as she chanted the ritual that she'd written all those years ago. She felt herself fade out of existence, like dust blowing away in the wind, as she used her own life force in addition to the mother's to power the spell. This was her legacy. She had spent all her 254 years of life to make this spell, and it was only fitting that she gave up the only life force she had left for it.

"Make me proud." She whispered into the cosmos with her last breath, finally disappearing peacefully forever.

Left on the floor in the flimsy old cottage was a perfectly clean, healthy, crying baby, with only one marking on his body; a shape, a permanent scar curtesy of the witch's spell, carved into his hip.

W.


End file.
